Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
His free hand descends onto my ass. Hard.
I gasp.
Once and again. The erotic pain digs deep beneath my skin to where he pulses inside me. “Not going to ask again.”
“Claiming,” I blurt out. “It’s a claiming.”
“Good girl.” The praise fills something inside me that’ll embarrass me later. Right now, there’s nothing but him. Still holding my hair, he grips my hip and pulls out before powering back inside me.
Then he lets loose. Finally.
His savage thrusts rock the bed even as he holds me in place. Right where he wants me. I want to lower my chin and bury my face in the comforter, but he keeps me at that vicious angle. Head up, back arched, butt in the air. He pounds against me, hard and wild, and I start to climb again. A stirring begins inside me, sparking into a live wire that uncoils deep and then explodes. I shut my eyes and bite my lip to keep from screaming as my body gyrates with a wild orgasm that sucks every ounce of energy I have away. Sobbing, I come down, trying to breathe, my lungs shrieking for air.
He doesn’t even slow.
The sound of flesh slamming forcefully against flesh fills the room. I mumble something but am not sure what.
In response, he releases my hair, grasps my nape, and pushes me down. I turn my head at the last second on the bed so I can breathe, held down and held open by him.
He’s relentless.
I soften, unable to do anything else. I’m spent, and he’s still rock hard, drilling into me. A spark ignites where we meet. No way. I blink. Three times in one night is a record. His hold tightens on my neck.
Then his free fingers find my clit.
I try to shake my head, but he has me captured. “No, Alexei,” I whisper brokenly. “I can’t. Really.” I’m swollen and sore. Three times is a miracle for me. I usually don’t make it to one. “Stop.”
For answer, he pinches my clit.
I suck in air, too startled to scream. The pain is unreal. His finger wipes along my wet thigh, and then he’s gently rubbing my abused clit. My body starts to move in rhythm with his finger. “No. I can’t,” I whisper brokenly. “Please.” Now I’m begging.
He ignores me. Flicks me lightly. I shudder, opening even wider for him.
Somehow, his finger is at my mouth, and he shoves it in. I taste myself on him. Then he pulls out, and his wet finger slides against my clit again. I tremble, wide open to anything he wants to do.
He pounds harder, holding me in place, and then scrapes his nail against me.
I fly away into an orgasm that has me silently screaming, my mouth open, no sound coming out. My body jerks and flails, held in place by him. Fire blasts through me, and I shut my eyelids, the blood pounding through my head so loudly, it’s the only sound in existence. Just as I come down, finally, completely broken, he stops inside me, holding tight as his body jerks against me.
His climax takes forever.
Finally, he releases me, pulls out, and flips me back over. His hands on my hips toss me farther up on the bed, and then he’s on top of me. “It’s been a long seven years, Peaflower. You’re not gonna get a lot of sleep.” His mouth takes mine.
Hard.
NINETEEN
Rosalie
I have nobody but myself to blame for what happened last night. Mentally chiding myself, I finish fastening my little mirror earrings as my gaze catches on the sketchbook in the corner of my bedroom. The pad is resting against the wall by the chair, next to the bag. Casting a guilty look at the bathroom door, I move and reach for it, flipping open the top.
It’s me. I’m staring out, my eyes blazing and my hair all over the place. I expected to find a drawing of trees, or I don’t know, a car. But not one of me looking all wild and kind of sexy.
The bathroom door opens, and I drop the sketchpad, turning guiltily.
One of his dark eyebrows rises.
“You drew me,” I whisper, trying not to be touched.
He shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”
This is way too much sensory overload. “I need to get going.” I hurriedly move to open the door.
He’s behind me, letting off heat.
Trying to ignore that masculine warmth, I walk gingerly down my private stairs from my suite to outside, sore in places I hadn’t realized existed. He bruised and bit me, leaving his mark everywhere on me. Head to toe, I wear him. I’d gotten about thirty minutes of sleep and had to spend extra time on my makeup to mask dark circles under my eyes and razor burn across my chin. The burns on my thighs would just have to heal on their own. Right now, I’m acutely aware of Alexei behind me. Things have definitely changed, and it is my fault. I had purposely gotten drunk.